Friday, June 17, 2011
mindbodymama: Lesbian Blogger Revealled to Be A Lesbian
No post this week, but in light of recent events it felt important to let you all know that I am not a straight man pretending to be a lesbian. I am an actual lesbian.
Friday, June 10, 2011
mind body mama: Wake Up
Fuck that noise about doing one thing every day that scares you.
Every day, wake up in your same old bed with your same old sweetheart. Open your sleepy eyes to the dresser you’ve had since high school; open the drawer to pull out the same style cotton underpants you’ve worn since you gave up diapers. Read your kid a poem you’ve loved since college. Eat the same breakfast you eat every single morning. Rock the old rut of a playlist as you drive to the gym; run the same program on your favorite machine watching a rerun of Law and Order you’ve seen at least five times. Go to the Coop and flirt with the whole staff: the straight lady with the new grandbaby, the grumpy baby dyke; the feminist superhero in the deli and the very solemn boys in the butcher shop. Buy the same bag of groceries you buy every week. Stand on the playground of the school you can see from your house with the other mamas and papas and watch the children you love stream into the afternoon sun. Cook something for dinner you’ve cooked a thousand times. Listen to your sweetheart tell a story you’ve known for fifteen years. Sit your ass on the old blue couch and watch something stupid on TV.
Once in a blue moon pack it all into the leaky barrel of your heart. Gird yourself with the comfort of the life you love, fortify yourself with hope and faith and denial and naivte, and throw it over the rapids. Don’t do the thing that scares you; do the thing that terrifies you. Do the impossible thing; the thing that would destroy you. When your barrel bobs to the surface, allow that there might be some wreckage on the rocks. But dollars to doughnuts it won’t be a total loss.
Wake up. Open your eyes to the new day. In your same old bed, with your same old sweetheart.
Every day, wake up in your same old bed with your same old sweetheart. Open your sleepy eyes to the dresser you’ve had since high school; open the drawer to pull out the same style cotton underpants you’ve worn since you gave up diapers. Read your kid a poem you’ve loved since college. Eat the same breakfast you eat every single morning. Rock the old rut of a playlist as you drive to the gym; run the same program on your favorite machine watching a rerun of Law and Order you’ve seen at least five times. Go to the Coop and flirt with the whole staff: the straight lady with the new grandbaby, the grumpy baby dyke; the feminist superhero in the deli and the very solemn boys in the butcher shop. Buy the same bag of groceries you buy every week. Stand on the playground of the school you can see from your house with the other mamas and papas and watch the children you love stream into the afternoon sun. Cook something for dinner you’ve cooked a thousand times. Listen to your sweetheart tell a story you’ve known for fifteen years. Sit your ass on the old blue couch and watch something stupid on TV.
Once in a blue moon pack it all into the leaky barrel of your heart. Gird yourself with the comfort of the life you love, fortify yourself with hope and faith and denial and naivte, and throw it over the rapids. Don’t do the thing that scares you; do the thing that terrifies you. Do the impossible thing; the thing that would destroy you. When your barrel bobs to the surface, allow that there might be some wreckage on the rocks. But dollars to doughnuts it won’t be a total loss.
Wake up. Open your eyes to the new day. In your same old bed, with your same old sweetheart.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
mind body mama: Victim Blaming, Redux
Here’s how it be, chickadee.
Someone tells you about an incident of sexual assault or harassement. For argument’s sake, let’s say that they tell you that a woman fell asleep in the back of a cab and was assaulted by the driver. Or that the head of the international monetary fund raped a hotel housekeeper. Or that a US legislator had unwanted sexual contact with a subordinate over a period of years, making her job and financial security subject to continued sexual contact.
When you hear that this occurred, you say, “She shouldn’t have.”
She shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
She shouldn’t have been in that part of town.
She shouldn’t have travelled without a buddy.
She shouldn’t have let him corner her.
She shouldn’t have submitted to his advances.
She shouldn’t have protected him with her silence.
She shouldn’t have accepted his gifts.
I’m gonna stop you here. I know you could go on all day.
Lemme ask you this one.
When the fuck do you say, “He shouldn’t have”?
He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her vulnerability.
He shouldn’t have abused his power.
He shouldn’t have raped her.
Every single goddamned time you run your mouth about what she should have done you give the rapist a pass. You remove the responsibility for his bad act from him, and place it onto the person he acted badly upon.
I want you to practice this. The next time you hear about an incident of sexual assault, I want you to say, “He shouldn’t have raped her. “
(You shouldn’t have to wait very long for this role play because somebody is sexually assaulted every two minutes.)
When you find yourself stumbling over these words like a middle manager in his first active listening workshop, I want you to feel how unfamiliar it is to place the blame on the perpetrator.
When you find yourself the only person talking about what the rapist might have done to stop the assault while all around you speculate on what the victim might have done to halt the attack, I want you to notice the marginality of your position.
When you listen to a female academic researcher on NPR explain how the perpetrator's behavior was really completely reasonable and understandable, I want you to notice how confused you become, and how hard it is to hold on to the possibility that the perpetrator might be responsible for his own actions.
That crazy you feel? That isolation, that self doubt? That wondering if maybe she she should have done something to make him not rape her?
That’s the rape culture. You’re soaking in it.
Rape culture: Apologizing for sexual assault since the dawn of the patriarchy.
And now, babycakes? What the fuck are we going to do about it?
Sexual assault statistics available from RAINN
Someone tells you about an incident of sexual assault or harassement. For argument’s sake, let’s say that they tell you that a woman fell asleep in the back of a cab and was assaulted by the driver. Or that the head of the international monetary fund raped a hotel housekeeper. Or that a US legislator had unwanted sexual contact with a subordinate over a period of years, making her job and financial security subject to continued sexual contact.
When you hear that this occurred, you say, “She shouldn’t have.”
She shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
She shouldn’t have been in that part of town.
She shouldn’t have travelled without a buddy.
She shouldn’t have let him corner her.
She shouldn’t have submitted to his advances.
She shouldn’t have protected him with her silence.
She shouldn’t have accepted his gifts.
I’m gonna stop you here. I know you could go on all day.
Lemme ask you this one.
When the fuck do you say, “He shouldn’t have”?
He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her vulnerability.
He shouldn’t have abused his power.
He shouldn’t have raped her.
Every single goddamned time you run your mouth about what she should have done you give the rapist a pass. You remove the responsibility for his bad act from him, and place it onto the person he acted badly upon.
I want you to practice this. The next time you hear about an incident of sexual assault, I want you to say, “He shouldn’t have raped her. “
(You shouldn’t have to wait very long for this role play because somebody is sexually assaulted every two minutes.)
When you find yourself stumbling over these words like a middle manager in his first active listening workshop, I want you to feel how unfamiliar it is to place the blame on the perpetrator.
When you find yourself the only person talking about what the rapist might have done to stop the assault while all around you speculate on what the victim might have done to halt the attack, I want you to notice the marginality of your position.
When you listen to a female academic researcher on NPR explain how the perpetrator's behavior was really completely reasonable and understandable, I want you to notice how confused you become, and how hard it is to hold on to the possibility that the perpetrator might be responsible for his own actions.
That crazy you feel? That isolation, that self doubt? That wondering if maybe she she should have done something to make him not rape her?
That’s the rape culture. You’re soaking in it.
Rape culture: Apologizing for sexual assault since the dawn of the patriarchy.
And now, babycakes? What the fuck are we going to do about it?
Sexual assault statistics available from RAINN
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